


i'll breathe you in forever and ever

by appleofmysirius



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Adult Oikawa Tooru, F/M, Post-Timeskip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:00:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28563177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/appleofmysirius/pseuds/appleofmysirius
Summary: Oikawa reunites with a fling he had when he was twenty-two, now thirty.
Relationships: Oikawa Tooru/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38





	i'll breathe you in forever and ever

The sticky, sweaty feeling of being in a club, bodies pressed against his, has slowly begun to lose its appeal to Oikawa. He’s out for a guys night with the boys from the team, now on their third venue of the evening. Sweat pricks his hairline, cheeks flushed from the alcohol he’s had. His collar is open, toned chest glistening with sweat. **  
**

He surveys the club. The DJ is a regular and has been for the past eight, no, nine years? Oikawa’s nose wrinkles with displeasure. How long has he been doing this? Many of the patrons cheer and celebrate the end of their exams, while Oikawa is here because the loud music and colourful drinks and gorgeous people all around help him park the loneliness aside for an evening and allow him to live in the moment.

A sudden elbow in his side causes him to jolt. He looks down at the offender, met with a head of hair and nothing else. With bodies packed together like they are now in the club, he’s really not at a good angle to catch anything. 

You turn to face him, insult dripping from your tongue but your eyes widen when you recognise who it is. 

“Oikawa!” You shout, barely audible over the bass of the club. 

His eyes glint in recognition, fingers already encircling your wrist to pull you outside towards the exit of the club where he can talk to you. 

“Look at you,” you laugh, throwing your head back and running a finger down the exposed skin of his chest. Goosebumps rise at your touch, a reaction so predictable knowing the intoxicating effect you had on him. 

“Look at you,” he says to you, noticing how you’ve opted for clothes that are a little more conservative since the last time he saw you- maybe five, six, years ago?

With a mischievous glint in your eyes, you card your hands through your hair, showing him a single strand of white that glows silver in the moonlight. Your pretty face is illuminated by the colours of the Argentinian night life, blue, green, pink, yellow, like a rainbow on your face. And you are a rainbow, in every sense of the word. 

Colourful and enigmatic, the bright spot after a rainy day, but also short-lived, just a glimpse- you were his only serious girlfriend since coming to Argentina but he dumped you after six months. The commitment was suffocating him, he couldn’t bear to be in a relationship which demanded something of him, not when he was putting his body and mind through the wringer every day for his passion, his lifeblood, his sport. So he cut you off, despite you being everything he could ever want. 

Oikawa feels a little guilty after how he treated you and perhaps this is evident in his eyes. He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to initiate small talk with you when he must have broken your heart. He wonders if you’ll say something snarky. 

“Will you relax?” You ask, bumping his shoulder with your fist. “We didn’t part on bad terms.” 

“We didn’t?” He blinks quizzically. 

“No,” you snort, “You, same as I, were twenty-two. There was no way you were ready to settle down. And I got that- things were moving a little fast between us.” 

Oikawa blinks. Never has a breakup gone down so smoothly before. Usually, he ended up getting something thrown at him, whether it be verbal barbs or a drink or whatever. He gapes at you for a moment, wondering how he had let someone as amazing as you slip through his fingers like that. Like the sand on the beach, he had picked you up, parted his fingers and let you slip through. 

“Look,” you say, patting his cheek, “Call me, alright? If you need a drink or if you need a friend.”

“I still have your number,” he blurts. 

“Shucks,” you rummage through your bag for your phone, “Then you’ll really have to call me. I think I deleted yours.” 

He nods, squeezing your arm as you pass him, licking his dry lips. You give him a quick wave, ducking back into the club. Oikawa stands outside for a moment longer, staring at your contact which he still hasn’t deleted. He wants to pull you back, to breathe your scent like you were an old sweater he left at home, to touch your skin like you held the answers to all his secret listlessness. 

Instead he goes back in, watches you get acquainted with a stranger and combats the curdle of jealousy in his gut with another Negroni. Running a hand through his brown curls, he sighs. The burn of the alcohol only brings into abject clarity that he wants you. It pounds in his skull and cuts through the hazy fog of his mind as he watches you leave the club with the stranger, your hand in that of your acquaintance, Oikawa nothing but a passing thought. 

* * *

Oikawa runs into you at the supermarket. He’s contemplating between lean turkey and lean beef for his stir-fry at night when you tap his shoulder. He whirls around, ready to berate whoever interrupted him, but his mouth is dry when he sees you. You’re in just a pair of simple shorts and a t-shirt, a giant tote bag on your shoulder. 

“I never thought I’d see you at the supermarket,” you say. 

“Why?” He asks, throwing the lean turkey into his trolley. 

“You seemed to live off alcohol and milk bread the last time I saw you,” you tease. 

“I was 22,” he rolls his eyes good-naturedly, “I’m 30 now. Time to get serious.” 

“Alright,” you laugh, about to leave. 

“Wait,” he calls, “Have lunch with me?” 

Lunch entails a bowl of salad at a nearby cafe, you excitedly regaling him with tales of your recent trip abroad. He scrolls through the photos of your phone, so caught up in your whirlwind energy that he doesn’t realise it’s almost dinner time. He needs to head back and cook his stir fry and head to bed on time, have his supplements and condition his hair. 

“You’re heading to do what?” He pales, almost in disbelief at hearing you were heading for a night out despite having work tomorrow. 

“What happened to the old Oikawa?” You ask, puzzled. 

The old Oikawa is now the new old Oikawa, who’s got joint aches when it’s cold, and schedules he likes to stick to, and a pressing urge in the back of his mind to become a father. A man who prefers the occasional quiet night in, who avoids the loud nights out on the town. A man who wants to continue playing the sport he loves, recognising that more care must be put into his body now that he ages, because his body is both his best asset and his biggest liability. 

“Would you like to spend the evening with me then?” He decides, because fuck it. He can be impulsive. All he wants is to bask in your presence, like a teenage boy and his first crush. He knows you, knows how alluring you are, how much he liked you before his reality caught up with him. 

Your eyes narrow but you nod. You take his hand in yours, leaning against his shoulder, extending an invitation, patching up a burnt bridge from eight years ago. “I hope you’re adding some kinda spice to your stir-fry.” 

He presses his cheek to your hair, “I’ve got gochujang in my fridge.” 

The night is spent in bed- feet pressed against his, under his soft comforter sheets, giggling about all the stories he shares with you. His hand cups your face, bringing you close for a kiss. Like a love story rekindled, it’s warm and soft. It lacks the uninhibited trust, the jumping off the cliff together kind of boldness of his youth. Instead, he’s inviting you into his home and into his life. Not trying to bend you into becoming a mere part of it. It’s good that you never bent to his will, that you didn’t break either, because he wouldn’t get to share this sweet sort of romance with you now. 

There is a sort of relief that comes with not having to exude and exude energy for you keep up with. Instead, he gets to sit back, relax and be himself, and enjoy you being yourself. 

* * *

It’s tooth-rotting, cavity inducing, as Oikawa indulges himself into the whims and fancies of a full-bodied romance. He’s had relationships, crushes, flings and hookups, but never been in love. The kind of toe-curling, intoxicating, mushy love that has him sending you texts at 11 AM on a weekday, in the middle of practice, that has him pencilling in dinner dates in his calendar. 

There is no pretense that he might want something more, this relationship is the something more. Time and energy go in to make sure he’s got you high up on his list of priorities, he understands the meanings of the words ‘moderation’ and ‘balance’ now more than ever. Sometimes he cancels dates for volleyball, sometimes he gives his body a rest and falls asleep in your arms after watching a movie at home. One is not more important than the other. They are equally important to Oikawa Tooru now, his hunger for volleyball satiated but never going away; joined by his desire for companionship, for fulfilment. 

And then, the six month mark approaches. And it passes. You move in. The previous hurdle in your first relationship bypassed easily when you mention your lease is expiring soon. The weekend is spent packing your things into boxes, buying more furniture and settling into his apartment. It seems easy, but it took work to get here. And it took him eight years of growth, from youth to adult, to understand what it meant to commit to something, to someone other than himself. 

And then you two hit one year. And then two. And now, three. 

Life is not a linear progression. He has gone back, and taken you with him. And the two of you experience your very first adult relationship, with commitments and responsibilities and planning and finances and all of the nitty gritty it takes to keep a relationship alive, not just flickering off the flames of mutual attraction. This is a roll your sleeves up and get to work kind of relationship. Where Oikawa realises that when he makes a choice, it affects the both of you, that it could have ramifications for ten years in the future. That impulse doesn’t always work when you have home to build and a life to carve out together. Plan, ask the other, think and communicate. 

You’ve got him where he never thought he’d be, looking through a jewelry website for engagement rings. He rests his feet up on the coffee table, nearly knocking over your little jar of potpourri, browsing through the images on his laptop. He has a vague idea of what he wants in mind, thinking of sliding the ring on your finger after taking you to dinner at your favourite spot in town. It’s got him giddy, love drunk as he imagines promising himself to you, dedicating himself to you and your future. 

Marriage is a decision months in the making, through endless late-night talks, and even the occasional argument until you were both on the same page about exactly what you wanted from each other. And where he once dreaded settling down, he’s now openly looking forward to it. There’s no rhyme or reason why, maybe it came with your reappearance or maybe it came with the ebb and flow of life. Somewhere along the way, he realized he was greedy enough to have, to want, to work for both- his career and his family. 

Meanwhile, you’re somewhere in the kitchen, meal-prepping for the week ahead, dancing to some pop song you’re playing on the speakers as you cook. He hides a fond smile behind his hand. 

So, this is love. 

**Author's Note:**

> post timeskip GROWN n SEXY oikawa is sooo yummy! 
> 
> tumblr plug -> @1tooru


End file.
